“Did he steal anything?”
These and a score of other cries rang out in quick succession. But Matt paid no attention, nor did he stop to offer any explanation to the astonished clothing salesman. He had seen his father, his father for whom he had been searching so long and so earnestly! He could tell that face, as haggard and white as it was, among a million.
Away sped the man up the street, and on after him came Matt, running as he had never run before. He could not understand why his parent should thus try to get away from him. But he did not stop to reason on the matter. He wanted to reach his father, that was all, and he strained every muscle to accomplish his effort.
But although Matt was a good runner, the man 297 he was after appeared well able to keep beyond his reach. Evidently some dreadful fear urged him on, for many times he would look back over his shoulder, and each time pass his hands over his forehead, as if to wipe the sight from his brain and memory.
Soon several blocks had been passed, and then the man turned a corner, and started toward the poorer section of the city. Matt continued to follow for half a dozen blocks further. Then he saw his father dart into the open hallway of a half-tumbled-down tenement.
When he reached the building the young auctioneer peered into the hallway, but could see no one. Several little girls were playing upon the sidewalk, and he asked them if they had seen any one go in.
“Crazy Will just went in,” replied one of the girls. “Guess he has gone up to his room in the garret.”
“Crazy Will!” murmured Matt to himself. “Poor father! How thankful I am that I have found you at last!”
And trembling with emotion, he hurried up the rickety stairs until he reached the door of the apartment which one of the girls pointed out as that occupied by Crazy Will.